


With a Bow on Top

by lustfulpasiphae (miraphora)



Series: Never to Rule [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bisexual Character, F/F, F/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Smut, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6497584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraphora/pseuds/lustfulpasiphae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen thinks that Thea is joking when she mentions giving the Trevelyan heir to him as a Satinalia present. But Thea has been testing his boundaries and giving him inappropriate gifts since Kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Bow on Top

 

“Keep your eyes closed, Commander.”

Thea smirked, her wide mouth hitched up at one corner, and took her broad hands away from Cullen’s face. She kept one eye on him as she circled to approach the bed—barely trusting him to obey after the way she had wound him up in his office. He stood still at the top of the stairs into her room, reaching one hand out to grasp the bannister cautiously. A narrow crease formed between his dark wheat brows, but his lashes remained obediently layered on his wind-roughened cheeks.

The huge Fereldan bed had always seemed excessive–and the lean, lanky figure kneeling in the center of it was dwarfed by the expanse of crisp white linens and quilted counterpane–but it was sure to be crowded soon enough.

Thea stopped on the far side of the bed, flicking a speculative, anticipatory glance between the woman kneeling bound and nude in its center and the man still waiting at the stairs. Maker, this was either going to be a magnificent success or a magnificent disaster. Either way, there was going to be screaming.

Her expression turned predatory.

“Come here, love.”

Cullen arched one brow but took a few steps carefully into the chamber, keeping his eyes shut obligingly. She was glad she’d convinced him to leave his armor in his office. She wasn’t in the mood for another hour of unveiling.

When he was near the foot of the huge bed, she shifted her stance and grinned again. “Alright, Commander. That’s far enough. Are you ready for this?”

The scarred corner of his mouth kicked up a bit in exasperation. “Maker’s sake, Thea, what is this all about?”

The woman on the bed shifted a little impatiently, and Thea rolled her eyes, grumbling to herself about his ingratitude and awful attitude about surprises generally. His brows quirked again, and she relented with a huff. “Go on then, open your eyes, you spoilsport.”

He was gazing at her when he finally obeyed, those sweet amber eyes like fine brandy that she could sip all night long. Then his gaze dropped to the bed and he froze in startlement. “Maker’s breath!”

A blotchy flush started to bloom through the pale, faintly freckled skin of the bound woman’s chest and shoulders, and she twitched her wrists in her bindings. Thea clasped her hands at the small of her back and rocked a bit on her heels.

“It’s not quite a ptarmigan in a pear tree—I believe she might take my finger off, and the ptarmigan is largely a docile bird—but I thought as gifts go, she might do–“ Thea rambled a bit, having trouble getting a handle on her smarmy grin. Maker, but he looked like she’d taken a polearm to the back of his head.

His expression finally resolved, and he took a few steps closer to the bed, shooting her an uncertain glance. “Thea, this is really just—“ He paused, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He frowned a little. “My lady, are you alright?”

That wasn’t directed to Thea, but to the “present” in the center of the large bed. Mira Trevelyan, kneeling with knees spread, hands bound behind her back, a gag in her mouth, and an elaborate red satin bow sitting on her head. Her eyes were concealed behind another strip of red satin, but her nostrils were flaring and there was a tense cant to her shoulders that Cullen suspected was discomfort—either physical or emotional. The flush in her skin was uneven and crawling determinedly up her throat. As he hesitated, she twitched her wrists again, and shifted her hips and knees, resettling her weight. Cullen tried very hard not to look at either the thatch of dark curls between her parted thighs, or the rose-petal tips of her breasts.

The younger woman exhaled heavily through her nose, and mumbled something around the gag, turning her head in Thea’s direction.

Thea’s mouth was still quirked with amusement, though she was watching Cullen carefully. “She’s fine, Cullen. And here willingly. You know me better than that.” Her voice softened chidingly.

He treated her to a nearly unreadable, complex glance. She imagined she understood it, regardless. _And what’s a noble heir doing in the bed of two washed up lyrium addicts?_ He’d find any way to put a damper on a moment, given half a chance.

Another insistent noise from behind the gag. Thea rolled her eyes and gestured to the bed. “Well, you’d better unwrap your present. But mind her teeth. I wasn’t jesting about the biting.”

Cullen shot her a narrow glance, then circled the bed, leaning close to the bound woman and gently touching her bare shoulder, reassuringly, before untying the blindfold and tossing it onto the bedside table. A pair of bright golden eyes blinked open and fixed on him watchfully. He could feel the heat at the tips of his ears and creeping up his neck but tried to control his expression and his gaze, keeping it firmly above her shoulders.

“Apologies, my lady. If I may–?” He gestured to the gag, a leather ball that would require a bit of an intimate touch to remove.

Her gold eyes crinkled at the corners and her brows rose, and one shoulder twitched briefly before she winced at the strain. He shot a glance at Thea. “How long has she been *waiting* on us like this?”

Thea shrugged and leaned a hip against a heavily-carved bedpost, arms crossed over her chest. “I told you I had a surprise for you. You’re the one who insisted on messing around on your damned desk first. *If* I may remind you,” she added archly, just to watch the flush climbing from his throat to his cheeks deepen. Making him hot under the collar never got old.

Cullen sighed slightly, and brushed the ball of his thumb gently across the younger woman’s damp lower lip, wordlessly communicating apology, before working the gag free of her mouth. He set the ball aside, giving the woman a moment to compose herself and work her jaw loose of gathered tension.

“You brought him here without *telling* him?” Her voice was rough and thickened from being gagged, but the edge was obvious.

Cullen turned back, caught her glaring hard at Thea, and got that careful expression back. Thea sighed with exasperation. Magnificent disaster was swiftly becoming more likely.

“The Commander has been putting up with my practice of doing anything and everything to test his boundaries for nearly a decade, _piseag_. You’re just the latest in a series of ridiculous gestures.” A wry smirk twisted the Inquisitor’s lips, and Mira shifted on her knees.

Cullen, ever the soldier, was doing a very respectable job of not letting his eyes stray. He cocked his head at Thea, considering. It took him a throat-clearing before he could speak, though. “I don’t know what you’ve negotiated.”

The Trevelyan girl shifted yet again–Thea smirked a little, thinking of how wet she must be, having been left for so long with anticipation building in her veins. She had teased the girl with the lightest and most unfulfilling touches before seeking out Cullen–just to whet her appetite.

“Negotiated?” Mira demanded in a tone with sharp edges. “I’m not a transaction–or a whore, to be bought and sold.” Her yellow eyes were snapping with ferocity, hectic color in her broad-planed cheeks.

Andraste’s pyre, what a nightmare. Thea breathed sharply to stifle her annoyance. “He means the rules of engagement, you tit.”

Cullen met her annoyance with an exasperated glance of his own and turned his careful attention to the younger woman. “This is not the sort of encounter one has without being certain of what constitutes permissive acts.”

Mira pursed her lips with a slightly blank look, glanced askance at Thea. “I–do you mean where is it alright to fuck me?”

Cullen grabbed at the back of his neck and dug his fingers into tight tendons with an explosive breath and a sharp “Maker’s fucking breath!”

Thea laughed outright. “Fucking is right. Yes, you innocent. Among other things. We talked about this earlier.”

One brow arched over those yellow eyes. “Oh. _Securite du mot_. I told you: Lavender.”

Cullen glanced between them, lips faintly mouthing the sounds of the Orlesian words. Thea lifted a shoulder at him in a slight shrug. “Her mother was Orlesian-bred. She never learned that term from her mama though. Probably that degenerate chevalier.”

Mira’s face was suffused with color. “I am right here!”

Thea shot her a quelling glance and circled the bed to join Cullen, sliding her hands around his waist and pressing near. They were the same height–she could look him right in the eye, and often did, because she loved the way he flustered and straightened his shoulders like he was on the parade grounds. “Say the word and this stops, Cullen. I only wanted to give us a bit of fun, and she’s eager to be here. I swear to you.”

He cupped a hand against her scarred cheek, caressing with his thumb, all of his tense uncertainty smoothing into fondness. “I’m sorry if I’ve ruined the surprise, Thea. I simply didn’t expect–well. I certainly didn’t expect *this,* regardless of your teasing.” He tilted his head, pressing a light kiss to her lips, his mouth twitching into a smile when she immediately deepened the kiss demandingly.

Her hands strayed to the front of his leathers, testing his laces experimentally, and he broke off the kiss with a soft chuckle, fending off her hands, catching them in his and squeezing tenderly. She smirked at him, her dark eyes heated with arousal and mischief, her hair falling in soft dark spikes across her forehead. “I just like to give you reasons to smile.”

“And to make me blush,” he amended, knowingly. He pressed his forehead to hers gently, hands cupped around her face. “I love you.” That was soft, just for her, but the woman on the bed heard the words, and an obscure expression of longing flickered across her broad, round face.

Thea’s wide mouth twitched into a grin, her dark eyes sparkling. “Happy Satinalia, _mo cridhe_.”

There was a soft throat-clearing from the bed. Cullen’s eyes flicked up, catching on the nude, lanky form of the Trevelyan heir, before her yellow eyes caught him with their suddenly diffident and self-conscious hesitance. He flushed, tugging Thea to his side, and pressed his temple to hers, trusting her to guide this encounter. He was no blushing virgin, but Maker…he’d never expected to have two women in his bed at once. Or any other combination of lovers.

“Listen. I don’t–I thought this had been discussed.” The woman’s speech became more precise, with softly-clipped consonants, when she was being careful. “I do not wish to intrude here.”

Cullen felt compelled to respond–it was his own hesitation, he felt, that had created confusion. It made his chest tight with anticipation and nerves, but he braced himself on the bed and leaned near to her, his hand cupping her face. She was tattooed to a degree he had rarely seen on a woman of her pale complexion–dots and complex lines that made the true shape of her face difficult to discern. Rylen had facial tattoos, but his mother had been from one of the few remaining nomadic tribes that maintained the Alamarri traditions. This woman was noble. She perplexed him utterly.

“Please. I apologize for my reticence. I had not expected such–largesse.” He could feel the scar disfiguring his lip tugging at the wry expression on his face. Maker, he didn’t mean to smirk at her like a hungry, snarling wolf.

Her yellow eyes–like a hawk, like hammered gold sovereigns, bright and brilliant–fixed on his mouth, and the corners of her lips curled. She flicked her gaze up to his, tilting her head slightly. “Shall I remain, then?” Her glance encompassed Thea behind him, the last bit of careful examination.

They nodded in tandem, though Cullen could not see Thea behind him to know it. “Please. If you will.”

The woman grinned broader and shifted forward on her knees, bringing her hands around to dangle a length of satin ribbon tauntingly. “Oh, thank the Maker. Then may we dispense with the ties? I think I would like to have my hands free for this.”

Thea barked a laugh behind him, loud and indelicate, and moved forward to snatch the tangled ribbon, inspecting it narrowly. “Rogues! Maker help me. You gave me to understand you were fine with bindings.”

The woman shrugged, and Cullen found his eyes straying to her collarbones. Maker. He didn’t think most of the time that Thea believed him, but he loved her muscular, well-defined body–and this Trevelyan woman might have been a leaner, lither form, but they shared the long, beautiful bones of the Marchers.

“I am not bothered–as you can see–but perhaps we should build to the more adventurous pursuits.” Her gaze was heated as it sought Thea’s face over Cullen’s shoulder. “You may direct my hands as you like…Inquisitor.”

Thea’s voice went huskier with arousal, and Cullen felt his own need coil tight as she began removing her tunic and trews with perfunctory efficiency. “Well then. Come here, minx. Let’s see what else those clever fingers can do.”

* * *

He watched them.

Thea lay spread out like a tall, exquisite banquet, her hard, scarred body tightening with ever-increasing arousal. Between her strong thighs, Mira braced herself on her elbows, her thumbs pressed between Thea’s slick lips, spreading her cunt obscenely, and opening her to deep, suckling kisses and the stroke of a writhing tongue.

Cullen felt heat pooling in the pit of his belly, his cock hard and aching at the sight of them. Thea’s long-fingered, sword-callused hands cupped her small, firm breasts, twisting and tugging at her nipples, and he longed to be there, suckling and tasting her skin. He wanted to run his tongue over her scars, to give her tenderness and all the love in his heart. And at the same time–Maker. He wanted to plunge into the cunt of this sleek, yellow-eyed minx with her arse swaying in the air before him.

Thea had one arm crooked behind her head, resting against the piled pillows and staring down the length of her body with half-lidded dark eyes. “That’s it, _piseag_. Give me your sweet kitten licks.” Her voice was a dark, husking purr. It made Cullen’s balls ache.

The Trevelyan woman must have treated her to a particularly deep tongue-fucking, because Thea’s hips arched and she threw back her head with a choked noise.

Maker. Sweet, Blessed Bride. Save him. He was going to perish before he ever decided what to do with himself. He found himself staring intently at the thatch of chestnut-dark curls between Mira’s thighs, and jerked his eyes back up, flushed and flustered, to find Thea watching him with a heated smirk and eyes almost black with pleasure. Her broad hand was tangled in Mira’s feathered chestnut hair, and she pressed the other woman closer, arching into her mouth.

He watched as the younger woman tilted her head, moaning softly against Thea’s cunt, and lapping deep before flickering her tongue across the throbbing pearl emerging from the apex of her folds. Her hips rocked back into empty air, and she made a muffled sound of poignant desire.

Cullen stilled, tense and wanting so much that he wasn’t sure what to take–what was being offered. Mira nuzzled her cheek against Thea’s straining thigh, then pulled back, rocking up onto her knees and turning towards him. Maker’s fuck.

She knelt with her thighs splayed, her cunt visibly wet, her chest heaving with quick breaths, and her face–sweet Maker. Her chin glistened with Thea’s juices, and her eyes were like molten gold, fixing on him hotly. She crooked a finger at him.

“Come here, _mon chevalier_.”

He shuddered without being sure why, his cock jumping in reaction to her heated purr. When he leaned forward, bracing one hand on the bed, she slinked nearer, crawling towards him and settling back on her knees so she was nearly on a level with him again. Her hands grasped his shoulders, thumbs digging in to tense muscles and massaging in surprisingly soothing circles.

She grinned as she leaned up towards him, and pressed her mouth to his. He gulped a frantic breath, tasting the tang and salt of Thea’s cunt on her lips, and lunged closer, one hand encircling her neck, holding her as he chased that slick juice from her lips with his tongue and teeth, kissing and sucking. She moaned softly, pressing tighter to him–or trying. His hand on her throat held her at bay, as he took what he needed, kisses hungry and searching.

At last she pulled away under her own power, her eyes glinting and lips swollen. Her hands clasped his shoulders. “She tastes sweet, _non_? You should join us, _mon chevalier_.” She swayed closer, her lips close to his ear. “She wants to watch you fuck me. Will you give her what she wants?”

Thea’s dark eyes were on him, waiting, and her long fingers were buried in her cunt, thrusting deep, twisting, then stroking outward along the swollen lips, teasingly in circles around the swollen nub. She pinched at it and took shallow, shuddering breaths, licked her lips and tilted her chin, challengingly. Urging him to take what he wanted.

Maker, he’d never know what he’d done to deserve her. To deserve any of it.

“What do you want?” he breathed, feeling Mira’s pulse hammering under his fingertips. He’d never seen eyes like that on anything but predators, and yet the way she tilted her head to encourage his grasp cried “prey!” It made him careful.

The yearning that flickered in her eyes for a moment was so open and obvious he would have had to be a fool to miss it. Her mouth curved teasingly, the tilt of her head taking on a challenging angle. It was an act–he had seen her need. But when she parted her lips with a hungry little gasp and answered “You–both of you–now” he let her believe he bought her deception.

He leaned down, grasping her throat again, lightly, and pressed a deep, tongue-tangling kiss to her mouth and growled, softly: “Now, minx, give her a kiss for me.” And when she grinned and turned away, crawling back to Thea’s hot, wet cunt–he slapped her ass, leaving a pink flush across one cheek.

She cursed heatedly and threw him a sharp glance over her shoulder before sliding her hands up under Thea’s arse and pulling her closer with emphatic hands. She bit the inside of the Inquisitor’s muscular thigh, leaving pink welts, and crept her way back to her slick folds. She sealed her mouth to the aching center, sucking and writhing her tongue along the inner folds.  

Cullen grasped her hips, holding her steady as he pressed the head of his cock to her dripping cunt. Maker, she was slick and wet like river weeds, her curls tight with humid heat. A shuddering breath escaped him as he eased into her with a slow thrust–she writhed back against him and muffled a cry against Thea’s heat with teeth and tongue, and before he could stop himself, he snapped his hips forward hard, sheathing himself deep. Their rough cries tangled around each other in the sweat-damp heat of the bedchamber, echoing off the stones.

Thea was watching him when he finally regained control of himself. He flushed deeply, still feeling out this experience, and started a measured rhythm of thrusts–realized after a moment that the sea-swollen rolling of Thea’s hips had synced to his movements, and Mira rocked between them like a storm-tossed sloop.

The younger woman turned her face to the side, resting her cheek hard against Thea’s hip, her thumb stroking in rapid circles around the Inquisitor’s pearl, her own breath coming quick and ragged as she focused on the heat and heft of Cullen’s fucking. Orlesian nonsense babbled from her lips, barely comprehensible even to a native speaker with the drawled elisions of her engrossed speech, and wholly unknown to her lovers. The Commander’s hands were warm and firm on her hips, and his cock *curved*, Maker, and struck the deepest parts of her with every thrust. It would not bring her to the edge, but it felt so good she could cry–she swore to herself she was not, that the damp on her cheeks was sweat and fluids from her enthusiastic attentions to the Inquisitor.

Cullen pressed deeper, felt Mira squeeze around his length deliberately, and bit his lip on an explosive oath as his balls seized. He clutched at her hips, hauling her back hard against him, spilling his seed in hot, aching pulses of release. She ground back against him, keeping him anchored in her depths, until the last, agonizingly sweet tremor shook through him.

Her fingers were buried in Thea’s cunt, crooked and rubbing at the front wall of her channel. She sealed her lips tight and sucked hard as her fingers stroked in quick circles. The Inquisitor’s thighs went rigid with tension and she arched up into Mira’s mouth, a harsh breath tearing from her throat–the only sound to herald her orgasm. Thea was quiet and tense in her pleasure–had always been. Her body locked tight, her fingers clutched, her belly taut like a drum, as the ripples of her pleasure spread outward from her core like an earthquake.

Mira’s muffled whine escaped around Thea’s throbbing pearl and her fingers chased the last tremors of the Inquisitor’s pleasure, stroking in quick, light flicks along her slick lips, dipping into her spasming channel with shallow thrusts. Thea’s hips bucked hard, and she cried out, a hand flailing and reaching to grasp at the younger woman’s hair and hold her still and tight as she ground up against her mouth with short, sharp hisses of breath. These tremors were light, fluttering through the ends of her nerves like the soft petals of stinging nettles–just barely edging into overwhelming.

Mira pulled her mouth away with a gentle, broad-tongued lick, easing the sting of overstimulation, and rested her tattooed cheek against Thea’s thigh, gasping for breath. She whimpered softly as she felt Cullen pull away, withdrawing from her still aching cunt–and made a startled sound as his fingers plunged into the slick, dripping mess of her cunt. The squelch of his seed and her fluids made her flush with embarrassment, and she turned her face against Thea’s thigh, the scent of her fecund release filling her senses. Cullen growled hungrily and twisted his fingers, adding a third and fourth without hesitation and stretching her.

“Maker!” Mira whined and spread her thighs apart farther, pressing back into his stroking like a whore. Her nipples throbbed and her pearl was hot and aching. She braced a hand on the bed beside Thea’s hip and reached down to touch herself–but Cullen beat her to it with his other hand.

“Is this what you need?”

Mira nodded with a voiceless whine, felt Thea’s hand stroke her hair tenderly.

“You’ve been so very good for us, _piseag_ ,” the Inquisitor husked encouragingly, “Let him take care of you.”

Mira clutched at the sheets, rocking her hips back and feeling the ache that had been building catch fire in her blood. She was stretched wide and it had the barest edge of pain–she imagined more–a tighter burn on the edge of her tolerance, and shuddered all along the core of her body, breaking out in gooseflesh. Her cunt clutched and spasmed around Cullen’s twisting, stroking fingers. She thrust back against him desperately, a high, keening whine curling from her taut throat as she imagined being so full and stretched she could feel it from head to toe, and he made a deep, raw sound at the way her cunt opened and fluttered around his fingers.

He braced a knee on the bed and covered her with his body, his wrist aching as he twisted his fingers in deep. “It’s not enough, is it? You need more.” He growled it, scattering hungry kisses along her lightly-freckled shoulders.

He slicked the fingers of his other hand in the fluids leaking from her sweet channel, and sank his teeth into her shoulder, right at the crook of her neck, as he worked another finger into the stretched and strained mouth of her cunt from another angle.

She went tight and tense for a splintered moment, then pushed back against him, hips unslung and cunt gaping and spasming with release. A ragged scream tore from her throat, her head thrown back and spine bowed into an arc of agonized pleasure.

Cullen inhaled sharply, feeling Mira clutch around him, and pressed his softened cock against the back of her thigh–feeling the faintest twinge of bloodflow like a threat. Maker, he was on the far side of 30 summers, he couldn’t possibly. Thea’s eyes were hot with desire, her cheeks flushed with color as she watched, and he bit his lip nearly through as he realized she had stroked herself to another quiet orgasm while watching them.

Mira had her head tucked down against her tremblingly-braced arm, her chestnut hair tousled and lank with sweat, hanging in her face. Cullen slowly eased his fingers from her body, petting gently at her damp curls, soothing her.

Her breath whooshed from her, and she made a sound that was half chuckle, half whimper. “I’m not a horse to be gentled, _mon chevalier_.”

He palmed her ass, squeezing gently. “No, my lady.”

Thea laughed throatily. “But you take to being ridden well enough!”

Mira huffed, too breathy still to be indignant, and dragged herself up the bed to collapse at Thea’s side. She twined one arm around the Inquisitor’s hips and curled up on her side, face turned into the pillow for a moment as she tried to regain her composure. Her flanks were still faintly trembling.

“I hope you do not mean to exile me just yet to the camp. I do not think my legs would carry me below.” Her accent had gotten lost in the Orlesian slur of her babbling, compounded by post-coital exhaustion.

Thea propped herself higher against the headboard, looking the woman over with a vaguely proprietary air. “Rest. You’ve certainly earned it.”

The younger woman had already curled tighter and tucked herself against Thea’s side, her arm anchored around Thea’s trim hips. Her eyes were half-lidded, and as Thea watched, she shut them and the corner of her mouth curled gently in the faintest suggestion of a smile.

Thea’s expression twitched with uncertainty, and she glanced quickly at Cullen. He was braced at the end of the bed, one knee sunk into the coverlet as he stood, and he was rubbing at the back of his neck, looking them both over with his brandy-deep amber eyes and a half-smile. His gaze caught on hers, and he tilted his head inquiringly, his smile deepening at the frantic edge to her expression.

“Bit off more than you can stomach?”

Thea scowled at him. “Never.” Her expression gentled as she looked down at the woman beside her, and the clever rogue’s hand spread and clinging to her hip like a starfish.

He could tell she didn’t know what to say or how to deal with the situation when she glanced back up with a crooked smile and a tilted sable brow. “So how did you like your gift?”

Cullen circled the bed and eased himself down at her other side, heaving a sigh of relaxation. This ridiculously massive bed really was much more comfortable than the lumpy mattress he had dragged up into the loft of his tower. He leaned close, cradling Thea’s jaw, and captured her lips in a tender kiss. His forehead rested against hers, and he felt her mouth curved in a smile.

“I loved it. And I love you.”

Her tongue flickered against his lips, light and quick to taste the feel of the words, before she pulled away to search his face. Her thumb brushed back and forth along his lower lip, and a slight smile hid in the corner of her mouth. “Mmphmm. Rest, _mo cridhe_. We still have a war council in the morning.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Cullen murmured against her temple, stroking his fingers back into her short hair and ruffling it.

She snorted and sunk down in the bed, resting her head on his shoulder. “Never. And we’ve been quite wicked.”

“Mmphm,” he agreed, mocking her indistinct, all-purpose Starkhaven noise. 


End file.
